UUS3 

!8Cr= 


No.  CLXXXIII. 


FRENCH’  STANDARD  DRAMA. 


THE 


WANDERING  BOYS, 

OR, 

THE  CASTLE  OF  OLIYAL. 

•  *  •  i 

BY  ANON. 


.. : 


WITH  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS,  STAGE  BUSINESS,  COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  &c.,  &c. 


AS  PERFORMED  AT  THE 

PRINCIPAL  ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  THEATRES. 


Tdftwrwi 

r  b.  ItelSJWS 


j  PRICBJ37  King,  Street  West.  12i  cents. 


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* 


m 


FRENCH  S  STANDARD  DRAMA 

THE  ACTING  EDITION. 

No.  CLXXXIII. 


THE 

WANDERING  BOYS; 

OR, 

THE  CASTLE  OF  OLIVAL. 

g,  iptsma,  in 


BY  ANON. 


TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED 

A  Description  of  the  Costume— Cast  of  the  Characters— Entrancea  and  Exits- 
Relative  Position  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and  the 
whole  of  the  Stage  Business. 


AS  PERFORMED  AT  THE  PRINCIPAL 

LONDON  AND  AMERICAN  THEATRES. 


NEW  YORK: 

SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

122  Nassau  Street,  (Up  Stairs.) 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/wanderingboysorcOOkerr 


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Costume. — [The  Wandering  Boys.] 


COUNT. — Large  black  shirt — slouched  hat — white  wig, 
&c.  Second  dress  : — Handsome  shirt — hat,  feathers, 
&c. 

ROLAND. — Dark  velvet  shirt. 

GREGOIRE. — Handsome  velvet  shirt — hat  and  feathers 
— cloak. 

HUBERT. — Old  man’s  peasant  shape. 

LUBIN. — Neat  peasant’s  shape. 

JUSTIN  and  PAUL. — Neat  brown  tunics,  trimmed — 
plain  brown  tights — shoes — caps. 

GASPARD. — Plain  shirt — tunic,  &c. 

BARONESS. — Dark  velvet  train. 

LOUISE. — Neat  peasant’s  skirt  and  bodice. 

MARCELINE. — Ibid,  old  woman’s. 


fHE  WANDERING  BOYS 


ACT  I. 

fCENE  I. — The  Hamlet  of  Olival ,  in  Provence . — A  Rus¬ 
tic  Bridge  across  the  back,  from  r.  to  l. — Hubert's  Cot¬ 
tage,  r.  s.  E. — Marceline' s  Cottage,  l.  s-  e. — A  Land¬ 
scape,  and  the  Castle  of  Olival  in  the  distance . 

Music. — Enter  Hubert,  from  the  cottage,  r.  s.  e. 

Hub.  (c.)  Broad  morning,  and  not  a  soul  to  be  seen, 
when  our  yearly  feast  is  to  be  celebrated,  and  a  wedding 
into  the  bargain  !  ’Tis  a  shame  that  such  an  old  fellow  as 
I  should  be  first  stirring;  but  of  all  the  lazy  spots  in 
France,  this  village  of  Olival  is  the  laziest.  Holloa! — 
Marceline — Marceline  ! 

Ejiter  M a rceline,  from  the  cottage,  L.  s.  E. 

Hub.  Well,  goody,  is  your  daughter,  the  bride,  get¬ 
ting  ready  for  church  ? 

Mar.  (l.  c.)  She  has  been  dress’d  this  half-hour,  neigh¬ 
bour  ;  I  helped  her,  and  thanks  to  my  taste,  she  does 
look  so  genteel!  Ah,  Hubert!  can’t  you  remember  me 
on  my  wedding-day  ? 

Hub.  Why,  yes  ;  I  have  a  monstrous  long  memory. 
Mar.  My  Louise,  my  last  chick  of  fourteen,  is  as  like 
what  I  was  on  that  very  day,  which  is  now  a  good  five- 
and -twenty  years  ago. 

Hub.  Five-and-thirty,  short  measure  :  you  know,  dame, 
I  never  compliment. 

Mar.  That  you  do  not,  indeed.  But  I  was  so  playful, 
then,  that  they  called  me  the  young  kitten. 

Hub.  And  now  they  call  you  the  old  tabby. 

Mar.  Old  tabby,  indeed  !  Such  rudeness — and  plump 

to  my  face  :  let  me  tell  you,  I  have  not  been  used  to - 

Hub.  Then  it  must  be  some  time,  dame,  since  you  laid 
by  your  looking-glass.  Come,  come,  my  ancient  neigh¬ 
bour,  the  hey-day  is  over  with  you  and  me ;  the  winter 


10 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS, 


[ACT  2. 

of  life  may,  and  perhaps  should,  be  cheerful ;  but  when 
old  folks  pretend  to  be  young,  they  provoke  derision  in¬ 
stead  of  commanding  respect. 

Mar.  Well,  well — you  are  monstrous  blunt,  neigh¬ 
bour  Hubert.  But  where’s  your  nephew,  the  bride-, 
groom  ? 

Hub.  A  slug-a-bed  !  not  out  of  his  nest  yet.  I  fancy; 
but  I’ll  rouse  him  with  a  vengeance.  [ Calling .]  Lubin  ! 
Holloa  !  Lubin  ! 

Lub.  [ Thrusting  his  head  from  an  upper  window  in  Hubert's 
cottage .]  Well,  here’s  Lubin.  Lawk,  uncle,  how  you  do 
bawl.  I  ben’t  deaf,  nor  dead  neither. 

Mar .  Poor  lad  !  he  has  been  dreaming  of  his  happi¬ 
ness. 

Hub.  Ay,  trying  to  snort  through  a  nose  too  short  for 
a  snore.  What  have  you  been  about  all  this  time,  sirrah  1 

Lub .  Titivating  myself,  to  be  sure,  nunkey,  to  look 
pretty,  you  know,  when  Irm  going  to  be  married. 

Mur.  Come,  be  quick,  Lubin  ;  the  morning  wears. 

Lub.  Nowdontee,  mother-in-law,  that  is  to  be — dontee 
flurry  me,  when  Pm  goiDg  to  plight  my  vows.  I  shan’t 
be  long  now,  but  it  takes  me  a  deal  of  time  to  make  my¬ 
self  killing.  [Retires. 

Hub.  Oh,  you're  a  killing  youth. 

Mar.  I  hope  he’ll  be  ready  soon,  for  often  as  our  vil¬ 
lage  feast  comes  round,  never  did  it  promise  to  be  so  joy¬ 
ous  a  day. 

Hub.  Ah,  dame,  it  has  lost  all  joy  with  me  since  the 
death  of  our  noble  benefactor,  who  founded  the  hamlet 
and  annexed  to  it  a  charity  for  orphans — dead  we  mayr 
naturally  suppose  he  is,  from  his  long  absence.  He  was 
the  kindest-hearted  nobleman - 

Mar.  The  Count  de  Croissy,  truly,  was  an  angel  of  a 
master,  but  our  present  lady,  his  niece - 

Hub.  Is  a  devil  in  petticoats  ;  a  disgrace  to  the  noble 
house  of  De  Croissy. 

Mar.  You  always  will  be  suspecting  and  suspecting, 
and  you  have  such  a  bad  opinion  of  our  poor  sex.  Fie, 
Hubert — you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 

Hub.  Look  ye,  Marceline,  you  provoke  me  to  tell 
you  more  of  my  thoughts  than  I  ever  trusted  you  with 
before.  Didn’t  her  uncle,  the  Count  de  Croissy,  marry 
the  Lady  Adeline  ?  Didn’t  two  boys  bless  their  union  ? 

Mar.  True  ;  and  what  then? 

Hub.  What  then  1  Why  the  marriage  and  the  offspring 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


11 


SCENE  I.] 

crushed  this  niece’s  only  hopes  of  inheritance  :  three 
years  after  his  union  the  count  sailed  on  business  of  im¬ 
portance  to  Sicily,  and  has  not  since  been  heard  of. — 
Shortly  after  his  departure  a  fire  broke  out  in  the  castle 
at  midnight - 

Mar .  Ay,  by  accident. 

Hub.  Yes,  by  accident  it  broke  forth  in  two  distant 
apartments  at  the  same  time ;  both,  too,  in  that  wing  of 
the  building,  and  under  the  very  room,  where  Lady  Ade¬ 
line  and  her  poor  innocents  slept:  they  perished — it 
makes  my  heart  bleed  to  mention  it — they  perished  in 
the  flames.  The  niece  escaped,  Providence  can  tell  how, 
and  is  now  in  possession  of  the  domains. 

Mar.  Why  not  rather  suspect  the  steward,  the  down¬ 
looking,  smooth-spoken,  Mr.  Roland  :  I’m  sure  he’s  a 
hypocrite,  though  now,  they  say,  she  trusts  him  with  the 
arrangement  of  all  her  affairs. 

Hub.  Why.  he’s  wicked  enough  to  perpetrate  any  act ; 
yet,  he  could  have  no  motive  to  have  done  the  hellish 
deed. 

Mur.  But  I  have  heard  it  whispered  that  the  children 
were  saved,  and  conveyed  secretly  away,  by  my  lord’s  old 
butler,  Babtiste. 

Hub.  That  can  hardly  be,  Marceline,  for  the  boys 
would  be  old  enough  now  to  come  forward  and  claim 
their  inheritance. 

Mar.  But  if  my  lady  baroness  don’t  think  them  dead, 
w  hy  does  she  make  such  searches  for  them  ? 

Hub.  That  circumstance  puzzles  me  ;  yet,  if  they  have 
escaped  her  designs,  her  order,  to  have  all  the  children 
who  come  into  the  village,  that  may  appear  to  be  of  the 
same  age  as  the  orphans,  seized  and  conveyed  to  her 
presence,  is  a  convincing  proof  of  her  criminality,  and — 

Enter  Lubin,  from  Hubert’s  cottage ,  R.S.E.,  admiring  himself. 

Luh.  (c.)  Here  I  am,  at  last !  A  pretty  dress,  ar’nt 
it?  I’m  quite  ready. 

Hub.  And  you  have  been  two  hours  making  yourself 
such  an  ape  1 

Lub.  An  ape  !  Some  folks  would  have  been  longer 
about  it,  and  not  looked  like  some  folks  after  all,  had 
they  met  with  such  a  disaster. 

Hub.  What  disaster  ? 

Lub .  Why,  nunkey,  I  took  up  a  tub  of  water  to  make 
use  of  for  a  looking-glass ;  and,  had  I  been  looking  into 


U,  OF  tLL  L!B. 


12 


THE  WANDEKING  BOY S, 


[ACT  !. 

it,  all  would  have  been  right ;  but  turning  to  look  for  my 
collar,  I  happened  to  step  a  pace  or  two  backwards,  and 
souse  I  came  into  the  tub,  and  1  have  since  had  to  wring 
out  ray  clothes. 

Mar.  Well,  Lubin,  the  happy  day  that  all  you  impe¬ 
tuous  young  men  are  sighing  for,  is  come  at  last. 

Lub.  Yes,  it’s  come.  Oh,  lack  !  only  do  just  put  your 
hand  on  my  heart,  and  feel  how  it  goes  bobbity,  bobbity — 
thump,  thump,  thump.  But  where’s  my  Louise,  the 
bride  that  is  to  be,  my  little  luck-a-daisy  ? 

Hub.  Don’t  talk  like  a  blockhead. 

Lub.  Lauk,  nunkey,  don’t  snub  me  ;  every  body  talks 
just  as  I  do,  till  the  end  of  the  honeymoon. 

Mar.  Lubin,  your  Louise  is  waiting  for  you. 

Lub.  Is  she  so?  then  her  Lubin  flies.  [Going-. 

Hub.  [Detaining  him.']  No,  her  Lubin  don’t  fly  yet: 
stay  where  you  are,  you  wild  boar.  Are  not  all  the  in¬ 
habitants  of  the  hamlet  to  be  assembled,  before  you  pro¬ 
ceed  to  the  bride,  according  to  form,  on  the  feast  day  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  indeed,  and  they  are  to  accompany  you  to 
her  house  ;  so,  stay  where  you  are,  child. 

Lub.  Child  !  that’s  what  nUnkey  always  calls  me  ! 

Hub.  You  and  I,  dame,  have  some  business  yet  to 
settle  wdth  the  notary,  relative  to  this  marriage  ;  on  our 
return  the  feast  may  begin.  Lubin,  be  sure  you  don’t 
stir  till  we  come  back.  Come,  Marceline* 

Mar.  Have  with  you,  neighbour.  [ Exeunt ,  R. 

Lub.  [Musoio-.]  Nunkey ’s  grumpy  ;  he’s  always  in  the 
same  strain.  Now  they’re  gone,  I’ll  stand  here  no  longer, 
i’ll  call  Louise.  [Approaching  Marceline’s  cottage .]  Miss, 
Miss,  Miss  !  Lauk  !  how  the  wind  whistles  down  one's 
throat  through  the  key-hole.  Miss  Louise  !  Miss  Louise  ! 
Mrs.  Lubin,  that  is  to  be!  There,  I  think  she  heard 
that.  I’ll  not  be  snubbed  by  nunkey  after  I’m  married  ; 
he  ha’nt  a  right ;  I’m  a  man,  and  that’s  a  lord  of  the 
creation. 

Enter  Louise,  from  Marceline’s  cottage,  L.  3.  E. 

Louise .  Dear  me,  didn’t  somebody  call  ? 

Lub.  Only  little  I,  dear  me.  Oh,  Miss  Louise  !  how 
tasty  you  do  look  ! 

Louise,  (l.  c.)  And  I  declare,  Lubin,  you  are  so  dizen’d 
out,  so  gay. 

Lub.  (c.)  Ben't  it  a  nice  dress  to  be  married  in  t  I 
thought  you'd  admire  it.  If  the  coat-sleeves  did  but  come 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


13 


SCENE  I.] 

near  my  wrists,  and  the  waistcoat  didn’t  come  so  near 
my  knees,  I  shouldn’t  mind  the  pinching  under  the  arms 
a  fig.  Well,  and  how  did  you  sleep  last  night? 

Louise.  Very  ill  indeed,  Lubin. 

Lub.  Did  you  ?  Why,  what  was  you  thinking  about  ? 

Louise.  Of  the  fine  clothes  I  was  to  put  on  this  morn¬ 
ing,  to  be  sure. 

Lub .  All  for  me,  your  own  Lubin.  Well,  now,  I  slept 
like  a  peg-top  ;  but  then,  I  dreamed  a  dream,  a  kind  of 
vision  like.  Guess  what  it  was  all  about. 

Louise .  Dear — how  should  I  tell  ? 

Lub.  It  was  all  about  myself  and  you.  J  thought  you 
was  Wenus,  come  to  the  foot  of  my  bed,  with  a  pigeon 
on  your  fore-finger,  and  that  it  said  to  me,  out  of  its  own 
little  beak,  Lovely  youth,  Wenus  adores  you,” — just 
as  plain  as  a  poll-parrot. 

Louise .  I,  Venus !  Nay,  now,  Lubin,  I  know  you  are 
flattering  me. 

Lub.  It’s  as  true  as  husbands  go  to  heaven.  [Goes  tnto 
the  cottage ,  r.  s.  E.,  and  brings  out  a  nosegay .]  Look  what  a 
flashy  nosegay  I’ve  brought  you  for  the  wedding — bache¬ 
lors’  buttons  all  round,  with  a  sunflower  in  the  middle. 

Louise .  [Taking  the  nosegay ,  and  smelling  it. ]  Prodigi¬ 
ously  handsome  indeed. 

Lub.  You  needn’t  sniff’;  it’s  all  for  beauty,  and  there’s 
no  smell. 

Hub.  [  Without ,  R.]  Now,  dame - 

Lub.  There’s  nunkey  come  back  with  your  mother; 
run,  or  by  gosh  we  shall  catch  it. 

[Exit  Louise  into  the  cottage,  L.s.  e. — Lubin  places  himself 
in  the  same  posture  he  was  in  when  Hubert  and  Marceline 
left  him. 

Re-enter  Hubert  and  Marceline,  r. 

Mar.  So,  having  arranged  the  settlement  with  the  no¬ 
tary,  the  lads  and  lasses  of  the  village  may  assemble  as 
soon  as  they  please. 

Hub.  [To  Marceline .]  Only  look  at  this  great  calf.  [To 
Lubin. ]  What  are  you  about  there,  eh  ? 

Lub.  What  am  1  about  ?  Why  standing  stock  still,  as 
you  bid  me. 

Hub.  But  I  didn’t  bid  you  stand  like  a  post. 

Mar.  Nay,  now,  Hubert,  you  are  too  cross  with  poor 
Lubin  :  he’s  a  good  lad— ^ 


B 


14  THE  WANDERING  BOYS.  [ACT  I. 

Lub.  That’s  what  I  am — a  very  good  one  :  you  won’t 
see  such  another  in  a  hurry. 

Mar.  And  though  his  head  may  want  a  little  finishing, 
who  knows  what  marriage  may  do  to  improve  it? 

[Rustic  music  heard  without. 

Hub.  Our  neighbours  have  arrived.  Dame,  bring 
out  the  bride  to  the  door,  whilst  I  stand  with  the  bride¬ 
groom  at  mine,  to  receive  them,  as  is  customary  on  the 
feast-day. 

[Music. — Hubert  and  Lubin  stand  at  the  cottage-door ,  r  s.e. 
and  Marceline  and  Louise,  l.  s.  E. — The  Villagers  cross 
the  bridge,  from  R.  to  L. 

Enter  Peasants,  l.  u.  e  .from  the  bridge ,  dressed  for  the  festi¬ 
val — they  dance  around,  presenting  nosegays  to  the  bride — 

Hubert  welcomes  them . 

Hub.  (c  )  [Producing  a  written  document.']  And  now,  my 
friends,  according  to  annual  custom,  I  am  to  read  to  you 
the  heads  of  the  bounty  annexed  to  our  anniversary,  as 
settled  twenty  years  since  by  the  founder  of  the  festival, 
our  dear  long-lost  lord,  the  Count  de  Croissy.  [Reads.] 
Ct  If,  on  the  day  of  the  feast ,  any  orphan ,  or  two  orphans ,  not 
exceeding  the  age  of  sixteen,  shou  ld  arrive  as  strangers  in  OLival , 
they  shall,  if  found  worthy ,  be  adopted  and  provided  for  ;  and 
in  case  of  the  future  absence,  or  death ,  of  the  Lord  de  Croissy , 
funds  are  vested ,  in  trust,  in  the  hands  of  Hubert  Claude 
Mauris  de  Annecy - 

Lub .  [Gohig  up  to  Hubert .]  That’s  yourself,  don’t  you 
know,  nunkey  ? 

Hub.  Be  silent,  fool.  [Reads.]  6 6  and  the  said  Hubert  is 
to  decide  whether  the  strange  orphans  be  worthy  of  the  provision 
Such  is  the  charter.  Now,  away  to  church,  and  then  to 
the  olive-field  for  feasting  and  dancing. 

[Music. — Hubert  takes  the  hand  of  Marceline,  Lubin  that 
of  Louise — the  villagers  following — as  they  are  proceeding , 
Paul  and  Justin  appear  on  the  bridge ,  crossing  from  r.  to  l. 

Jus.  [On  the  bridge .]  Indeed  !  I — I — I  never  was  so 
ill  treated. 

Enter  Paul  and  Justin,  l.  u.  e.,  attired  as  Swiss  cottagers , 

Paul  bearing  a  bundle ,  slung  by  a  stick  over  his  shoulder — 

the  marriage  procession  stops. 

Paul.  [Advancing  with  Justin.]  Never  mind ;  keep  a 
good  heart,  I  tell  you — a  fig  for  them. 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


15 


SCENE  I.] 

Hub .  (c.)  Stay,  who  have  we  here  ? 

Mar .  (c.)  Two  pretty  lads,  I  declare. 

Lub.  (r.  c.)  How  one  blubbers,  whilst  t’other  is  as 
blithe  as  a  lark. 

Jus.  (l.)  [Crying.]  Oh,  Paul !  what  will  become  of 
us  1 — I’m  quite  in  despair. 

Paul.  (i..  c.)  What  signifies  snivelling  ?  Bad  luck  now 
— better  another  time.  See,  here  are  some  good-natured- 
looking  souls  already  :  they’ll  give  us  a  little  refresh¬ 
ment,  I’ll  warrant  ’em — won’t  you,  kind  gentlefolks  1 

[Bowing. 

Hub.  Who  are  you,  my  young  friends? 

Jus.  Sir,  we  are — we  are — [Sobbmg.]  Oh,  dear !  I 
can’t  tell  for  the  life  of  me — oh,  dear! 

Paul.  [Putting  him  out  of  the  way.\  Do  stand  aside,  and 
while  I  speak  you  may  cry  in  a  corner. 

Lub  If  you  hav’nt  a  handkerchief  to  wipe  your  eyes, 
I’ll  lend  you  mine. 

Paul.  [To  Hubert.]  We  are  two  poor  unfortunate  lads, 
sir  ;  one  of  us  is  apt  to  whimper  a  bit,  but  you’ll  find  me 
a  tolerable  tough  one. 

Mar.  W  hat  are  your  names,  children  ? 

Paul.  My  name  is  Paul,  madam,  and  my  brother’s 
name  is - 

Jus.  [Coming  forward,  sobbing .]  Ju — u — ustin — Justin, 
madam. 

Lub.  Don’t  cry  any  more;  don’t,  little  Justin. 

Hub.  Where  do  you  come  from  ? 

Paul.  We  come  just  now  from  that  great  ugly  castle, 
at  the  end  of  your  village  ;  don’t  be  affronted,  sir, — 
your  village  is  a  mighty  pretty  village,  but  your  castle 
there  is  as  black  as  the  devil  on  the  outside,  that’s  the 
truth  on’t. 

Hub .  I’m  afraid  there’s  a  great  deal  more  of 

the  devil  within. 

Jus.  We  rang  at  the  gate  in  hopes  of  getting  in,  sir, 
for  we  are  a  little  tired. 

Paul.  And  a  grumpy  old  fellow,  sir,  came  out,  and 
did  so  abuse  us,  just  as  if  we  had  been  a  couple  of 
thieves. 

Jus.  If  we  hadn’t  run  away,  brother,  I  do  think  he 
would  have  beat  us. 

Paul.  Beat  us — I  should  like  to  have  seen  that, 
though — hang  me  if  I  wouldn’t  have  given  him  such  a — 

Mar.  [7h  Hubert. ]  Sure  as  can  be,  they  mean  that  out 

b  a 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


16 


[act  I. 


landish  porter,  my  lady’s  steward,  that  was  hired  about 
a  month  ago. 

Hub.  [Aside.]  And  who,  being  deaf,  can’t  betray  secrets 
he  never  hears.  [7 j  Paul  and  Justin. ]  What  country  do 
you  come  from,  my  lads  ? 

Jus .  From  a  long,  long  way,  indeed,  sir. 

Paul.  From  near  Berne,  sir,  in  Switzerland. 

Jus  And  we  have  been  travelling  on  foot,  sir,  above 
a  month. 

Lub.  Lauk  !  how  they  must  want  to  sit  down. 

Hub.  What  is  your  father  ? 

Paul.  We  can’t  remember  him,  sir. 

Lub.  Ah  !  there  are  many  little  boys  who  know  nor¬ 
thing  about  their  fathers. 

Hub.  Your  mother,  then — how  came  you  to  leave 
her  ? 

Jus.  Oh  i  we  never  could  have  left  mother  ! 

Mar.  How  then,  children  1 

Jus.  Our  dear  mother — she — she - 

Paul.  [ Much  affected .]  She  left  us — oh,  Justin  ! 

[ Embracing  him . 

Hub.  [Affected.]  Poor  lads  ! 

Paul  You  shall  hear  part  of  our  story,  sit,  as  Justin 
sings  it  when  we  travel  along,  at  the  rich  folks’  gates, 
air.  Come,  Justin.  [C?wses  to  Hubert • 

SONG — Justin. 

'Twas  near  a  lake,  within  whose  wave. 

When  summer  smil’d,  we  us’d  to  lave, 

'Midst  wilds  retir’d  our  poor  abode, 

Which  errant  feet  but  seldom  trode  ; 

The  goatherd  was  the  only  guest 
That  ere  our  humble  pillow  press’d  ; 

There  first  we  tasted  nature’s  joys, 

Though  there,  as  now,  two  orphan  boys. 

As  years  advanc’d,  our  mother  dear 
Would  tell  her  tale  with  pitying  tear — 

How,  forc’d  from  kindred,  friends,  and  home, 

In  foreign  climes  compell’d  to  roam — 

Our  parent  dead,  the  world  unkind, — 

She  sought  our  cot,  to  shelter  find  ; 

And  tears  oft  from  her  eyes  would  flow 
When  pausing  on  the  tale  of  woe. 

The  chamois  fleet,  for  mother’s  fare, 

With  daily  toil  we  strove  to  snare  » 


17 


SCENE  1.]  THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 

The  lake  its  ample  tribute  paid, 

As  did  the  garden  to  our  spade  : 

13>ut  ah  !  our  cares  what  woes  betide — 

Our  tender  mother  droop’d,  and  died. 

We  left  the  vale,  scene  of  our  joys. 

To  wander  here — two  orphan  boys. 

Lub.  (r.)  Oh,  dear ! 

Hub .  Have  you  no  relations  left, then? 

Jus.  Not  one  in  the  world,  nor  any  friend,  sir. 

Hub.  And  whither  are  you  going  now,  my  lads? 

Jus.  To  Marseilles,  sir-  they  say  we  may  find  berths 
on  board  a  ship  there,  perhaps. 

Mar .  But  you  are  out  of  the  road,  children. 

Jus.  Yes,  ma’am;  for  about  a  league  and  a  half  ofF 
w^ were  told  there  was  to  be  a  grand  feast  at  Olival, 
with  a  fine  wedding  and  a  handsome  bride. 

Lub.  And  handsome  bridegroom ;  they  said  that, 
didn't  they  ? 

Paul.  [ Crossing  to  l.]  No,  sir ;  they  made  no  such 
mistake. 

Hub.  How  old  are  you,  boys 

Jus.  Paul  is  a  year  older  than  I,  sir. 

Paul.  And  I  am  just  turned  fourteen,  sir. 

Lub.  Fourteen  !  egad  !  that's  exactly  my  age. 

Hub.  How — your  age  ? 

Lub.  Yes  :  I  was  fourteen,  four  years  ago. 

Hub.  (c.)  Look  ye,  neighbours,  though  I  have  the 
power  in  this  matter,  1  shouldn’t  like  to  do  anything 
that  wouldn’t  please  you  all  ;  but  here  are  two  poor 
lads,  come  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  in  my  mind  just  an¬ 
swering  to  the  first  article  of  the  count’s  intentions  ; 
shall  1  fix  upon  these  poor  little  fellows.  What  say 
you,  neighbours  ? 

All.  Ay,  ay,  Hubert — ay  ! 

Hub.  Then,  my  lads,  there’s  no  travelling  for  you  to 
Marseilles. 

Paul,  i 

3*  >  No,  sir  ! 

J  US.  j 

Hub .  Set  your  heart  at  rest,  and  your  limbs,  too,  for 
the  present,  for,  from  this  moment,  you  are  adopted  here, 
taken  care  of  for  life,  and  to  be  placed  in  honest  employ¬ 
ments  fitting  your  station,  by  the  bounty  of  the  lord  of 
the  hamlet,  the  noble  Count  de  Croissy. 

BS 


18 


THE  WANDERING  BOY>. 


[ACT  I. 

Paul.  [ Delighted .]  What,  we  ? — Huzza!  huzza!  huzza! 

Jus.  For  life  !  oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear,  sir  !  oh,  brother  ! 

[They  rush  alternately  into  Hubert's  aims. 

Jus.  [Kneeling. ]  Oh,  dear,  good  sir  ! 

Paul.  [Kneeling.]  But  you  ar’nt  joking,  now,  I  hope, 
sir — are  you  ? 

Huh .  No,  no,  my  Jads — [Raising  them.]  but  don’t 
thank  me  ;  bless  the  name  of  the  noble  founder  of  the 
charity. 

Lub.  I  consent ;  so  does  the  bride  and  all  the  vil¬ 
lagers  :  'tis  a  fixed  thing,  be  assured. 

Huh.  1  wish  your  tongue  was  a  fixed  thing,  with  all 
my  heart.  But  come,  this  point  is  settled  :  lookye,  boys, 
yonder’s  my  cottage  ;  [ Pointing ,  r.]  go  in  and  put  down 
your  bundle;  and  harkye,  you'll  find  a  brown  loaf  and 
half  a  bottle  of  wine  on  the  table  ;  stay  your  stomachs, 
and  then  return  to  us. 

Paul.  Thank  you,  sir;  we’re  sharp  set ;  we  sha’nt  be 
a  minute,  I  warrant  you. 

[Exeunt  Paul  and  Justin ,  into  the  cottage,  ft. 

Hub  Come,  my  friends,  now  for  a  dance,  and  then  to 
the  olive  field  for  the  feast.  Rural  Ballet. — Music. — 
a  chair ,  with  a  canopy  of  trellis-work ,  decorated  with  Jiowers 
and  ribbons,  is  brought  on  by  Peasants,  r.  U.  e.,  and  placed  in 
the  centre .]  Now,  JLubin — now,  Lubin,  away  with  you  to 
church;  Marceline  and  1  will  follow. 

Lub.  Well,  you  won’t  be  long:  come,  neighbours — 
come,  Louise — you  and  I  must  get  into  the  chair,  you 
know;  come,  mind  you  don’t  tremble.  [Helping  her  into 
the  seat.]  Now,  I  after  you.  [Seats  himself.]  Here  we  are, 
caged  like  a  couple  of  Canary  birds.  Our  time’s  come, 
so  play  up,  neighbours,  and  turn  us  off. 

[Exeunt  Lubin  and  Louise,  borne  off  and  followed  by  Pea • 
sants ,  L.  U.  E. 

Re-enter  Paul  and  Justin,  from  the  cottage ,  r. 

Hub.  (c.)  Well,  my  lads,  you  have  stowed  all  safe  ? 

Paul.  (r.  c.)  Oh,  yes,  our  bundle  in  a  cupboard,  the 
brown  bread  and  wine  in  our  stomachs. 

Jus.  (r.)  There’s  one  thing,  though,  we  forgot  to  tell, 
and  you  have  been  so  kind  to  us,  sir,  that  it  would  be  a 
shame  to  hide  anything  from  you. 

Paul.  So  it  would,  but  what  have  we  forgot  to  tell  ? 
1  don’t  remember  anything. 


SCENE  I.J  THE  W  A  N  D  E  It  I  N  G  BOYS.  19 

Jus.  The  little  box,  brother,  that  poor  mother  gave  us 
od  her  death-bed. 

Hub.  What’s  in  it,  my  boys  1 

Jus.  We  don’t  know,  sir. 

Paul.  Show  it,  brother;  mother  gave  it  to  Justin  to 
keep,  sir,  for,  though  he’s  the  youngest,  yet  mother 
always  said  he  was  the  steady  one. 

[ Justin  takes  a  small  casket  from  his  bosom ,  and  gives  it  to 
Hubert . 

Hub.  Curiously  bound  and  sealed.  Here’s  writing ; 
let  us  see — [Reads.]  u  To  Justin  and  Paul — Never  open  this 
box  till  Justin  has  reached  his  eighteenth  year” — Very  myste¬ 
rious. 

Mar.  (l.)  I  should  monstrously  like  to  know  what’s 
in  it.  „ 

Hub .  I  don’t  know  a  woman  that  wouldn’t. 

Mar.  I  hope  you  have  never  tried  just  to  peep  a  little 
inside,  if  you  could,  children  ? 

Hub.  Psha !  they  know  nothing  of  the  contents,  do 
you,  my  lads  ? 

Jus .  No,  indeed,  sir  ;  ’tis  three  years  to  come  before 
I  shall  be  eighteen,  and  neither  of  us  would  open  the 
box  for  all  the  world,  before  the  time  our  dear  mother 
has  mentioned. 

Hub .  Did  she  say  anything  when  she  gave  it  to  you  ? 

Jus.  [Affected,]  When  she  gave  it  us — oh!  we  had 
rather  not  talk  of  that. 

Hub.  Nay,  my  good  fellow,  it  may  be  of  consequence. 

Paul.  Well,  then,  “  My  dear  children,”  she  said — we 
were  at  her  bed-side — she  was  dying — oh  ! 

Hub,  Come,  cheer  up,  my  good  lad. 

Paul,  u  Take  this  box,’  she  said,  and — [ Roland  appears 
on  the  bridge ,  and  crosses  from  k.  to  L.]  “be  sure  to  keep  it 
safely ;  the  happiness  of  your  lives  depends  on  it ;  and” — 

Jus.  Stop,  Paul,  here’s  somebody  coming. 

Enter  Rowland,  l.  u.  e. 

Hub.  [Thrusting  the  box  into  his  bosom.]  As  I  suspected, 
that  impertinent  steward.  [Aside. 

Paul.  Who  is  the  gentleman,  sir. 

Hub.  Mr.  Rowland,  the  steward  from  the  castle, 
who  comes,  no  doubt,  with  a  message  from  his  mistress. 

Paul.  [Half  aside.]  Od  hang  that  castle  !  I  can’t  fancy 
any  body  that  belongs  to  it. 

[Paul  and  Justin  cross  to  L.  corner  in  the  front* 


20 


the  wandering  boys. 


[act  I. 

Rol.  [ Advancing ,  R.,  he  glances  his  eye  at  the  boys ,  en¬ 
deavouring  to  conceal  his  observation  of  them  from  Hubert  and 
Marcehne.]  Honest  Hubert,  good  day.  Marceiine,  my 
ancient  dame,  l  am  happy  to  see  you. 

[ Hubei't  and  Marceiine  pay  their  respects  sullenly. 

Mar.  (l.  c.)  [Aside.]  He’s  a  black  sheep,  if  ever  there 
was  one  in  a  flock. 

Rol.  (r.)  I  met  the  procession  in  the  way  to  the 
church,  and  heard  you  were  following;  don’t  let  my 
presence  interrupt  you. 

Hub.  (c.)  Your  presence,  sir,  is  an  honour  we  didn't 
look  for. 

Rol.  The  sight  of  so  many  joyous  faces,  Master  Hu¬ 
bert,  cheers  my  heart,  I  assure  you. 

Hub.  Then  I  wonder,  sir,  you  don’t  cheer  your  heart 
a  little  oftener.  [Aside.]  Mischief’s  a-foot ;  he’s  so  devil¬ 
ish  civil. 

Rol.  These  are  two  pretty  boys ;  whose  are  they,  Hu¬ 
bert  ? 

Hub.  [Alarmed.]  They  are  mine,  sir. 

Rol.  [With  surprise.]  Your’s  ! 

Mar.  [Eagerly.]  Yes ;  and  mine,  too,  sir. 

Rol.  And  yours? — Why,  Hubert!  Marceiine!  would 
you  bring  scandal  on  yourselves  ? 

Mar.  Scandal  1  I  defy  any  one  to  bring  scandal  on 
me,  sir  ;  they  belong  to  all  the  hamlet. 

Hub.  In  a  word  they  are  orphans,  newly  arrived  on 
the  feast-day,  and  adopted  by  me, with  the  consent  of  all 
our  neighbours. 

Rol.  Oh  *  according  xo  the  Count  de  Croissy’s  charter. 

Hub.  Yes;  and,  according  to  that  charter,  they  are 
under  my  care  and  protection. 

Rol.  Certain  I  am,  my  good  friends,  they  cannot  be 
under  better,  How  old  are  you,  my  lads  ? 

Jus.  [ Trembling .]  Paul,  do  you  speak  ;  I  am  so  fright¬ 
ened. 

Paul .  Frightened!  pho  !  [Advancing  boldly  to  Roland.'] 
Sir,  I  am  fifteen  ;  brother  was  fourteen  last  Monday. 

Rol.  Fine  little  fellows,  indeed,  of  your  years.  Hu¬ 
bert,  why  hav’nt  you  introduced  them  at  the  castle? 

Paul.  [Pertly.]  Thank  you  for  nothing,  sir;  but  we’ve 
had  enough  of  the  castle  already. 

Rol.  Are  these  the  same  boys,  that  the  porter,  as  I 
beard  just  now,  drove  away  from  the  castle  gate! 

Jus.  He  used  us  very  cruelly  indeed,  sir. 


THE  WAND E KING  BOYS. 


21 


SCENE.  1*3 

Rol.  Oh  !  you  must  not  think  of  that :  I  have  repri¬ 
manded  him,  and  you  must  therefore  forgive  his  arro¬ 
gance — he  is  stupid  and  deaf.  Hubert,  the  Baroness 
must  see  them  ;  and  to  show  you,  boys,  that  you  have 
nothing  to  fear,  l  will  conduct  you  to  her  myself. 

Hub.  [Aside.]  Oh,  the  devil  ! 

Rol.  You’ll  be  delighted  to  go,  won't  you,  my  lads  ? 

Jus.  [Dejectedly. j  No,  thank  >ou,  sir. 

Paul.  Ecod  !  somehow,  1  should  like  to  talk  to  a  Baro¬ 
ness,  too  ;  1  don't  think  I  ever  saw  one  in  all  my  life. 

Rol.  Come,  then,  time  must  not  be  lost. 

Hub.  [Aside.]  I  must  disguise  my  fears.  [Aloud.]  I 
am  ready  to  attend  you  with  them  directly. 

[ Taking  the  hands  of  Paul  and  Justin. 

Rot.  [Stopping  him.]  Psha  !  you  forget,  Hubert,  that 
you  are  waited  for  at  the  church  ;  as  soon  as  her  lady¬ 
ship  has  seen  them,  I’ll  bring  them  to  you  in  the  olive 
field.  Come,  my  good  lads,  bid  good  bye,  for  a  short 
time,  to  your  protector. 

Paul.  Good  bye,  sir, — we  sha’nt  be  long  gone. 

Jus.  [Embracing  Hubert.]  Good  bye,  kind,  worthy  sir. 
[Going. j  Oh!  I  had  like  to  have  forgot — but  the  little 
box,  sir. 

Hub.  [Aside  to  Justin.]  The  box — hush  ! 

Rol.  A  box,  say  you,  a  box  !  have  they  a  box,  then? 

Hub.  A  pretty  casket,  a  mere  toy  that — I’m  going  to 
lock  it  up  directly. 

Jus.  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  I  can’t  give  you  that  trouble. 

Rol.  He  seems  very  eager  about  it — what  does  it  con¬ 
tain  ? 

Hub.  As  they  report,  some  trifles  belonging  t  their 
deceased  mother. 

Rol  Trifling  to  you,  no  doubt ;  to  them  a  treasure — 
why  retain  it !  Their  anxiety  to  keep  it  in  their  own 
possession  is  very  natural. 

Jus.  Besides,  mother  bid  us  never  to  part  with  it. 

Hub.  [Giving  the  casket.]  There  then,  boy,  and  mind 
you  do  take  very  great  care  of  it. 

Paul.  [To  Hubert.]  Oh,  dear  sir,  don’t  be  afraid  of  the 
steady  one.  [To  Roland.]  And  now,  sir,  we  are  ready  to 
accompany  you. 

Rol.  No  doubt  but  we  shall  be  at  the  olive-field  as 
soon  as  you. 

Paul .  l 

<8f  ;  Good  bye,  kind  friend. 

Jus.  ) 


22 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


[ACT  II. 


Hub.') 

4*  >  Heaven  preserve  you,  my  boys — good  bye. 

Mav.  3 

[Music. — Marceline  and  Hubert  embrace  the  boys  affectionately, 
Roland  takes  their  hands ,  they  ascend  the  bridge ,  L.  u.  e., 
cross  it,  and  exeunt,  r.  u .  E  ,  returning  salutes  with  Hubert 
and  Marceline  till  they  disappear. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.— The  Court-yard  of  the  Castle  of  Olival. — 
Massive  gates,  c.  F.,  adjoining  tvhich.  on  each  side,  is  a 
small  Dungeon ,  with  a  grated  window . — An  Arbour, 
L.  s.  c.,  with  a  table  and  two  stools  near  it. — A  large 
Gate ,  r.s.e.,  and  a  Wall  leading  from  it  to  the  dungeons,  r. 

Slow  Music. — The  Count  de  Croissy  discovered,  r.  c., 
seated  near  the  gate ,  disguised  as  a  porter ,  with  a  large  bunch 
of  keys  suspetided  to  a  leather  belt. 

Count.  [K/sittg  and  advancing,  c.]  Let  me  not  decry  the 
behests  of  Providence,  since  its  objects  are  framed  for 
purposes  which  mortals  cannot,  appreciate  ;  but  I  have 
suffered  much — ay,  in  the  extreme  ;  and  though,  like  all 
of  heaven's  creatures,  apt  to  err,  have  not,  in  thought  or 
action,  merited  so  much  affliction,  toil,  and  misery,  as  in 
its  judgment  has  been  my  allotted  portion.  Alas  !  I 
dread, \ny  wintry  age  no  friendly  sun  will  cheer ;  yet  will 
I  not  breathe  forth  revenge,  but  kneel  and  pray. 

[ Kneels-. — The  castle  bell  is  heard  to  ring — he  retreats  hastily 
to  his  seat — a  horn  sounds,  and  loud  knocking  without,  L. — 
the  county  who  affects  deafness,  continues,  regardless  of  the 
clamour  for  admittance ,  to  remain  patiently  in  his  seat , 
leaning  on  his  staff'. 

Enter  Gasfard,  l. 

Gas.  There  he  sits,  as  deaf  as  a  post;  nine  times  out 
of  ten,  whoever  pulls  the  bell  or  blows  the  horn,  I  must 
trudge,  for  Master  Francis,  there,  never  heeds  ’em  :  what 
a  shame  for  him  to  be  head-porter,  with  such  a  sharp 
fellow  as  me  under  him.  [The  castle  bell  rings.]  Coming  ! 
Plague  take  you  !  I  hear  you  plain  enough.  I  wish  you 
did,  you  dunny  old  blockhead.  [Exit  at  the  gate ,  r.  s.  e. 


8C ENE  !.]  THE  WANDK1UNG  BOYS.  2b 

Count.  [ Rising ,  and  coming  forward.']  ’Twas  the  tram¬ 
pling  of  horses  :  had  it  been  the  voice  of  children  at  the 
gate,  I  had  been  speedy  enough  to  terrify  and  repulse 
them,  for  within  these  walls  infant  innocence  must  not 
enter  now.  Oh  !  once  the  lisping  village  babes  flocked 
playfully  about  this  castle’s  lord,  and  clung  to  him  like 
tendrils  round  the  oak,  gracing  their  support  and  shelter ; 
but  now - 

Gas .  [Without.]  This  way. 

Count.  Hark  !  they  come.  [Hastily  resuming  his  seat. 

Re-enter  Gasp  a  rd,  followed  by  three  men,  bearing  with  them 
bales  of  goods,  amongst  whom  is  Gregoire. 

Gas.  Your  horses  will  be  fed,  and  your  caravan  put 
under  cover,  but  you  must  carry  the  silk  and  rich  stuffs 
from  Paris  to  the  baroness  herself.  Come,  I’ll  show  you 
the  way.  [Exeunt  Gaspard  and  Porters,  l. 

Gre.  [Going  cautiously  up  to  the  Count.]  My  Lord  de 
Croissy. 

Count .  [Starting  up.]  Gregoire !  is  it  you,  then,  my 
friend  ?  Your  return  from  the  capital  has  been  prompt. 
[Advancing,  R.]  My  application,  then,  has  failed  ? 

Gre.  No,  no,  my  lord  :  an  emissary  announced  from 
the  Count  de  Croissy  had  not  long  to  wait ;  I  placed 
your  letter  in  the  minister’s  hand,  and  scarce  an  hour 
elapsed  ere  ’twas  in  that  of  the  sovereign. 

Count.  What  did  you  verbally  explain  to  the  high  mi¬ 
nister  of  state  ? 

Gre.  Your  being  captured  at  sea  by  the  pirates  of 
Algiers — your  twelve  years’  imprisonment  in  their  dun¬ 
geons — 

Count.  Where  you  endured  equal  misery,  Gregoire — 
I  cannot  exactly  say  shared  it,  with  me,  for  we  were 
separated  and  placed  in  solitary  cells. 

Gre.  Oh,  my  dear  lord,  think  not  of  me  now. 

Count.  Proceed,  my  good  fellow. 

Gre.  I  then  related  our  method  of  escape  ;  our  arrival 
at  your  estates  as  seeming  wanderers,  both  so  worn  and 
tattered  from  captivity  that  no  tenant  recognised  us — you 
poorly  clad,  and  with  no  attendant  but  myself. 

Count.  I  would  you  had  said  friend,  rather  than  at¬ 
tendant. 

Gre.  My  lord,  you  honour  me  much  :  next  I  touched 
on  what  you  too  soon  learnt  on  our  return,  your— 
[Hesitates.]  your  domestic  losses,  my  lord. 


24 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


[ACT  n. 

Count.  My  wife  and  children  !  [ Strongly  affected .] 

But  we’ll  pass  over  that  now,  Gregoire — did  you  men¬ 
tion,  too,  that  I  had  induced  this  scoundrel  steward, 
Roland,  to  employ  me  as  porter  at  my  castle  gate. 

Gre.  I  did,  my  lord. 

Count.  ’Twas  an  easy  stratagem.  A  total  stranger — 
a  seeming  foreigner — apparently  deprived  of  half  his 
faculties,  is  eagerly  received,  as  a  convenient  menial,  by 
those  who  dread  observers  on  their  actions. 

Gre.  Most  true,  my  lord  ; — and  your  reason  of  dis. 
guise  for  fear  of  the  infernal — I  mean,  my  lord,  for  fear 
of  your  niece,  the  Baroness,  who  now  keeps  possession 
here. 

Count.  Spare  not  terms — that  wretch  deserves  the 
worst.  Should  I  discover  myself,  my  peasantry  would 
rally  round  me,  yet  still  she  holds  the  castle — 'tis  stocked 
with  military  stores,  and  ill  led  with  new-hired  mercena¬ 
ries  of  her  own  ;  her  creatures  would  endure  a  siege,  and 
brave  the  rightful  owner. 

Gre.  All  which,  in  obedience  to  your  instructions,  I 
enlarged  upon  ;  pleading  present  exigency  to  excuse  the 
personal  duty  of  throwing  yourself  at  the  feet  of  your 
sovereign. 

Count.  Thanks,  Gregoire  :  knowing  your  care,  my 
letter  dwelt  but  lightly  on  these  matters,  wishing  more 
to  authenticate  myself  and  person,  which — 

Gre.  That  letter,  with  the  documents  contained  in  it, 
most  fully  established. 

Count.  You  say  it  reached  the  king — w  hat  is  the  issue  ? 

Gre.  Mo^t  favourable  to  your  wishes :  troops  are 
marching  from  the  capital,  to  assert  your  rights — this 
night,  or  by  to-morrow’s  dawn,  perhaps,  they  may  ar¬ 
rive  ; — I  have,  by  artifice,  joined  myself  with  three 
commercial  travellers  from  Paris,  to  cheer  you,  my  dear 
lord,  with  the  intelligence. 

Count.  Meantime,  Gregoire,  I’m  in  the  baroness’s 
power. 

Gre.  And  must  be  cautious  ; — let  us  break  off,  my 
lord — be  sure,  I  shall  be  hov’ring  near. 

Count.  Oh,  friend  !  can  your  fidelity  to  me  be  ever 

repaid  ? 

Gre.  You  owe  me  nothing — here  is  my  treasure,  [ Put - 
ting  his  hand  to  his  heart.]  and  whenever  you  order  me  to 
do  you  good,  you  make  it  overflow.  [Exit,  l. 

Count.  When  I  recover  my  domains,  every  tenant's 


25 


SCENE  I.]  THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 

heart  will  throb  with  joy,  w!-  mine  will  be  pained 
with  anguish: — there  is  no  apanment  in  this  castle  on 
which  I  cast  my  eyes  that  will  not  tell  me — here  all  you 
doted  on,  otice  breathed,  but  breathes  no  more  ;  here 
smiled  your  murdered  wife,  and  here  your  perished 
babes  climbed  your  knees. — And  oh,  desperate  fiend  ! 
not  even  spare  my  little  ones — but  retribution  comes 
with  powerful  glow. 

Rol.  [Without  ut  the  gate,  R.  s.  E.]  My  master-key  will 
open  it. 

Count.  The  villain  Roland,  [ Looking  out,  R.]  and  with 
him  the  very  boys  whom  I  scared  this  morning  from  this 
den  of  infamy. 

Enter  Roland,  Paul,  and  Justin,  r. 

Paul.  So,  this  is  the  castle  ;  well,  it  is  mighty  grand 
and  dismal,  to  be  sure. 

Jus.  [To  Roland.']  We  are  soon  to  go  back  again,  sir, 
ar’nt  we  ? 

Rol  Ay,  ay,  presently.  I  am  going  to  inquire  of  the 
baroness  when  it  will  be  her  pleasure  to  receive  you. 
Francis  !  [The  Count ,  pretending  not  to  hear  him ,  still  walks 
nearer  to  the  boys.]  Francis  !  [Very  loud . 

Paul  [ Running  up  and  bawling  to  the  count.]  Sir,  there’s 
Mr.  Roland  talking  to  you — can’t  you  hear? 

[The  Count  turns  towards  Roland,  who  looks  sternly  at  him, 
and  makes  signs  for  him  to  withdraw — the  count  bows,  and 
retires  behind  the  arbour,  l. 

Rol.  Stay  where  you  are,  my  lads,  I  shall  soon  return. 

[Exit  at  the  gate ,  c. 

Jus.  (l.)  Why,  brother,  the  old  man  that  drove  us 
from  the  gate,  looked  quite  good-natured  at  us  just  now. 

Paul,  (l.)  Didn’t  he?  so  different,  I  could  not  help 
wondering  at  it ! 

Jus.  And  how  cross  Mr.  Roland  is  to  him. 

Paul.  I  suppose  that’s  to  show  his  consequence,  because 
lie’s  the  great  lady  s  great  man  ;  did  you  mind  him — 
u  Francis.”  [Mimicking  Roland.]  Lord,  ’tis  mighty  easy 
to  be  a  great  man — ’tis  only  to  stamp  your  foot,  be  pom¬ 
pous,  and  pretend  to  more  consequence  than  you  have 
a  right  to. 

Jus.  But,  Paul,  when  this  great  lady  comes,  what 
shall  we  say  to  her  ? 

Paul.  Why,  that  puzzles  me  a  bit.  Don’t  you  remem¬ 
ber  that  Blaize,  the  carrier,  who  used  to  travel  to  Ge- 
o 


26 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


[ACT  II 

neva,  told  us,  that  all  your  great  folks  there  talk  so 
flourishing — they  have  always  “  the  honour  to  see  each 
other,”  and  hang  me,  Justin,  when  the  baroness  comes,  if 
I  don’t  try  something  after  that  fashion. 

Jus .  [ Looking  out.)  Here  she  comes,  Paul,  I  declare. 

[Both  crossing  to  R. 

Paul  No  ! — does  she,  though  1  I — I  begin  to  feel 
myself  little  a  queerish,  somehow. 

Enter  the  Baroness  at  the  castle  gate,  c. — she  looks  at  the 
boys ,  and  starts . 

Bar .  [ Aside,  L.  ]  Those  lineaments  ;  —  do,  then,  De 
Croissy’s  sons  still  live,  or  has  my  conscience  conjured 
up  a  likeness  ? — [Aloud,  with  assumed  tranquillity .]  Good 
day,  boys,  welcome  to  the  castle. 

Paul.  [Aside,  r.]  Lord,  Justin,  she’s  very  good-natured 
— I  ar’nt  frightened  at  all  now — hem  !  [Bows.]  Your  head 
gentleman,  Mr.  Roland,  told  us  that  you  would  be  flat¬ 
tered  by  the  honour  of  a  visit  from  us,  and  so  we  flattered 
ourselves  that  we  shouldn’t  do  you  the  honour  to  refuse 
you ;  and — and  here  we  are,  madam — speak,  Justin, 
[Pulling  him  forward.]  do  her  ladyship  the  honour. 

Jus.  [Bows,  r.c.]  And  here  we  are,  ma’am,  your  honour, 

Bar.  [Aside.]  They  talk  like  cottage  boys,  yet  with  in¬ 
telligence  that  proves  a  noble  origin  :  and  their  air,  how 
noble  :  their  countenances  seem  to  say,  disperse  our 
dawn  of  ignorance,  that  we  may  shine  in  kingly  courts, 
two  stars  of  chivalry.  [To  the  boys.]  Roland  informs  me 
you  are  adopted  in  Olival  by  virtue  of  the  established 
charter. 

Boys .  [Bowing.]  Yes,  ma'am,  your  honour. 

Bar.  Were  the  noble  Count  de  Croissy  here — alas  !  I 
fear  he  lives  not !  and  hourly  do  I  mourn  his  loss — I 
think  that  his  unerring  judgment  would  discover  in  your 
appearance,  my  young  friends,  something  above  those 
peasants  for  whom  his  bounty  was  designed. 

Paul.  I’m  sure,  ma’am — that  is,  your  honour,  you  are 
a  monstrous  deal  too  polite. 

Bar.  Yes,  ’tis  to  me  a  great  pleasure  to  act — to  act,  as 
I  suppose  he  would,  were  he  present :  I  must  therefore 
supersede  the  worthv  Hubert’s  charge,  and  take  you 
under  my  own  protection. 

Paul.  Ma’am  !  your  honour  ! 

Jus .  Oh,  dear  lady,  indeed  we  don’t  deserve  it. 

Bar.  Oh !  I  am  confident  my  hopes  in  you  will  ba 


.'HE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


"SCENE  1.] 


27 


fulfilled  ;  you  must  receive,  through  me,  my  amiable 
young-  friends,  an  education  suited  to  those  qualities* 
with  which  I  perceive  partial  nature  has  gifted  you. 

Paul.  )  .  ..  ,  S  Why,  Justin. 

Jus.  I  Apart  t0  each  other-  \  Why,  Paul. 

Bar.  You  shall  lay  aside  your  coarse  apparel,  and  to¬ 
morrow  appear  in  habits  proper  for  the  condition  in  which 
I  mean  to  place  you. 

Jus.  \\  hat,  what  can  we  say,  madam,  your  honour  ? 

Paul.  Say  ? — Thank  you,  thank  you,  dear  madam. 
From  this  minute,  Justin,  you  and  I  are  two  little  gen¬ 
tlemen. 

[Embraces  Justin  with  all  the  riotous  happiness  of  a  boy ,  till 
the  box  falls  from  J  ustin  s  bosom . 


Re-enter  Roland  at  the  gate ,  C. 

Rul.  [Observing  the  box  and  speaking  rapidly  to  the  Baroness. ] 
Quick,  secure  the  casket — ’tis  that  I  told  you  of. 

[The  Baroness  eagerly  takes  it  up. 
Jus.  See  now,  Paul,  what  have  you  done  !  I’m  sorry 
you  should  have  stooped  for  it,  madam. 

Bar.  [ Retaining  the  box.]  That  hand,  so  prettily  held 
forth,  must  not  be  drawn  back  empty  ;  here,  here,  is 
money  for  you  both.  [Putting  a  purse  into  J  ustin*  s  hand.  J 
Roland  will  accompany  you  to-morrow  to  the  adjacent 
town,  where  you  will  buy  whatever  trinkets  you  may 
fancy. 

Paul.  A  purse  of  money  !  Oh,  your  honour. 

Jus.  Thank  you,  good  madam,  but  the  box  is — 

Rol.  [Crossb/g  and  interrupting  him.]  Shouldn’t  you  like, 
now,  to  see  the  castle  gardens?  They  are  so  beautiful. 
Paul.  Are  they  r — i  should  like  it  of  all  things. 

Jus.  [Apart.]  But  the  box,  you  know,  Paul. 

Paul.  Pooh  1  Do  you  think  such  a  grand  lady  as  that 
*wants  to  cheat  us?  We  shall  be  back  directly. 

Jus.  So  we  shall,  that’s  certain.  Well,  sir,  then — - 
Rol.  Yonder  is  your  way,  boys,  [Pointing  to  the  light.] 
you  cannot  miss  it. 

Paul.  Come,  Justin. 

[Exeunt  Paul  and  Justin ,  R. — Roland  looks  after  them  till  they 
are  out  of  sight — he  then  turns  round  eagerly^  to  address  the 
Baroness. 


Enter  the  Count  de  Croissy,  l. — he  paces  the  court-yard  to 
and  fro,  eagerly  watching  during  their  conversation. 

Rol.  That  casket  quiets  or  confirms  our  present  fears® 
c  2 


28  the  wandering  boys.  [act  II 

Bar.  [ Reading  the  superscription .]  “  Never  open  this  box 
till  Justin  has  reached  his  eighteenth  year.*9 

Rol.  Let  me  inspect  it,  madam.  [ Receiving  it. 

Count  [Aside.]  What  can  this  mean? 

Bar  May  we  not  be  observed  1 
[  Roland  and  Baroness  glance  their  eyes ,  R. — the  Count,  who  is 
behind  them  unseen,  crosses  to  L. 

Rol.  No:  I  have  permitted  the  domestics  to  attend 
the  festival  ;  no  soul  remains  within  the  castle  but  your 
own  guard,  who  are  all  upon  the  posts,  excepting  Fran¬ 
cis,  and  he  is  deaf  and  superannuated. 

[  Untwists  the  binding  and  breaks  the  seal  of  the  box 
Bar .  Be  expeditious,  then. 

Rol.  [Taking  two  portraits  out  of  the  box.]  Confusion  ! — 
The  portraits  of  the  Count  de  Croissy  and  Adeline,  his 
wife  !  These  brats,  then,  must  be  theirs. 

Count.  [Aside,  clasping  his  hands  in  violent  agitation.]  Oh, 
heavens  !  My  own  children  ! 

[The  Baroness  and  Roland  start  and  turn  round — the  Count 
resumes  his  walk  in  seeming  inattention. 

Rol.  [  With  a  menacing  tone,  and  waving  his  hand.]  Fellow, 
begone  !  [The  Count  retires ,  L. 

Bar.  May  not  that  man  be  dangerous — he  is  eternally 
pressing  upon  our  footsteps  ! 

Rol.  [Busied  iii  searching  the  casket .]  Merely  the  old 
fool’s  zeal. — Stay,  here’s  a  letter.  [The  Count  returns  unper¬ 
ceived .J  *Tis  written,  as  the  date  instructs,  twelve  years 
ago,  and  signed  Babtiste  !  Our  suspicions  were  too  true  : 
that  gray  adherent  to  De  Croissy  did  save  the  urchins, 
and  secretly  conveyed  them  from  us,  w  lien  we  hoped  that 
they  had  perished. 

Bar.  Head — read. 

[The  Count  peeps  on  at  intervals,  eagerly  listening • 
Rol.  [Reads. J  “ Dearest  sister — I  write  this  letter  on  my  death¬ 
bed,  by  a  proved  friend,  who  will ;  ecount  to  you  a  story  oj  wretch¬ 
edness  and  horror.  1  send  to  you,  my  dear  l  ord,  the  Count  de 
Croissy* s  two  darling  sons ,  whom  their  intentional  murderers 
think  dead,  and  whom,  thank  heaven ,  I  have  saved  ;  Armond 
and  Raymond  are  their  names ,  but  joi'  caution  s  sake,  let  them 
he  called  Paul  and  Justin.  Disclose  not  to  them  their  high 
parentage  till  riper  years  have  given  them  prudence  and  power 
to  assert  their  birthrights .”  That  they  shall  never  do. 

Bar.  [Terrified.]  They  will,  and  that  disclosure - 

Rol.  Madam,  dismiss  your  fears,  let  me  finish — “  Poor 
as  you  are ,  shelter  them  as  your  own ;  and  should  you ,  my  sister , 


SCENE  l  ]  THE  WANDERING  BOYS.  29 

die ,  ( chile  they  are  boys,  then  may  the  Almighty  Providence  watch 
over  them."  They  shall  not  again  escape — now  their 
certain  death  must  be  our  sure  and  only  pledge  of  safety. 

Bar.  Death  !  Is  there  no  other  way  ?  Oh,  my  heart 
sickens  at  means  which  we  have  tried  too  much  already. 

Rol.  Madam,  madam,  would  you  abide  in  fear  for  ever  ? 
The  breath  of  these  two  boys  is  like  the  glaive  of  justice 
hanging  above  our  heads,  suspended  by  a  hair.  While 
they  exist,  you  yourself,  each  moment,  are  in  danger  of 
dying,  and  dying  infamously. 

Bar.  They  are  so  interesting — could  you  use  violence? 

Count. '  Aside.]  You  shall  not,  while  this  arm  has  powrer 
for  their  defence. 

Bar.  Beware  !  [To  Roland .1  They  are  now  the  adopted 
of  the  village,  and  their  sudden  disappearance  would 
create  suspicions  that - 

Rol.  Hush  all  those  alarms — no  suddenness,  no  vio¬ 
lence,  good  lady — a  subtle  and  slow  poison — I  have  it 
in  my  apartment. 

Count.  [Aside.]  Horrible  villain  ! 

Rol.  They  come. 

Bar.  I  scarce  dare  look  upon  them. 

Re  enter  Justin  and  Paul,  at  the  gate ,  R.  s.  E. 

Paul.  Well,  of  all  the  fine  gardens  I  ever  saw,  that  is 
the  finest — there’s  fountains,  statues, and  grottos.  What's 
that  stout  marble  man  with  a  broad-sword  in  his  hand, 
sir,  at  the  end  of  the  great  walk? 

Rol.  Oh  !  a  gladiator.  But,  after  your  ramble,  I  sup¬ 
pose  you  will  be  glad  of  some  refreshment? 

Paul.  Yes,  if  you  please,  sir. 

Jus  But  we  promised  Mr.  Hubert  to  be  back  soon, 
brother,  and  we  must  keep  our  w  ord. 

Rol.  Yes,  yes — a  slight  repast  first ;  and  shouldn’t  you 
like  it  in  that  pretty  arbour?  [Calling.]  Here,  Francis. 

Enter  The  Count  at  the  gate,  c  f — Roland  motions  to  bring 
refreshments  into  the  arbour — the  Count  retires  to  obey  him , 

Paul .  This  will  be  a  nice  place,  Justin,  won’t  it?  I 
like  it  mightily. 

Jus.  Very  ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  I’m  very  hungry. 

Rol.  [Apart,  and  going.]  Most  opportunely. 

Bar.  Stay,  Roland,  whither  are  you  going. 

Rol.  Only  to  bring  them  something,  madam,  as  a  slight 
addition  to  their  meal.  [The  Baroness  catches  him  by  the  hand , 
.  C3 


30  THE  WANDEKfNG  BOYS.  [ACT  If. 

and  by  action  and  countenance  supplicates  him  to  spare  them.] 
It  must  be  so.  [Disengaging  himself- — exit  hastily ,  r. 

Jus .  Only  see,  Paul,  how  she  looks.  Ar’nt  you  well, 
madam  ? 

Bar.  [Trying  to  collect  herself.]  Yes — yes,  boys. 

Paul,  (l.)  I'm  very  glad  of  that,  madam  ;  to  be  sure, 
you  can  have  nothing  to  make  you  uneasy,  because  you 
are  so  rich. 

Bar.  (r.)  Do  riches  always  ease  the  mind? 

Paul.  Yes,  rich  folks  must  always  be  happy,  for  they 
can  make  every  body  else  so. 

Jus.  (c.)  And  if  we  were  rich,  we  would  try  to  be  as 
good  as  you,  madam,  and  do  no  harm  to  any  body. 

Bar.  [Aside.]  Their  artless  observations  torture  me. 
Paul.  [Looking  out.]  Oh,  here  comes  Mr.  Francis. 

Jus.  Then  you  and  I,  brother,  must  assist  him. 

[The  Count  enters  from  back ,  with  a  small  tray  of  refreshments 
and  a  basket  with  two  partitions ,  in  one  of  which  is  a  bottle 
of  wine — they  set  the  basket  on  the  ground  with  the  wine  in  the 
partition  nearest  to  the  arbour — he  looks  anxiously  at  the  boys 
and  retires  up,  r. 

Paul.  Now,  Justin,  here's  the  napkin;  you  spread  it, 
and — what  a  nice  cold  fowl.  Oh,  we  shall  relish  this. 

Jus.  There,  now  it’s  all  snug,  and  the  bottle  of  wine. — 
Thank  you,  Mr.  Francis. 

Paul.  Now  then — [They  sit.]  I’ll  carve,  I'm  sharp  set, 
and  we  shall  be  so  comfortable. 

Bar.  [Aside,  and  looking  out.]  Poland  returns,  and  brings 
with  him  the  fatal  means  of  death. 

Re-enter  Roland,  r.,  with  a  bottle . 

Rol.  [Aside.]  This  will  lull  our  fears  to  rest,  and  ren¬ 
der  their  sleep  eternal. 

Paul.  Mr.  Roland,  what,  have  you  brought  us  more 
wine  ?  Only  see  here,  here’s  a  whole  bottle  already. 

Rol.  [Affecting  surprise.]  I  knew  not  that,  but  this  is 
very  choice.  Come,  then,  there’s  good  fellowship  in  ex¬ 
change  ;  you,  my  young  friends,  shall  drink  of  mine,  and 
I  of  yours. 

Count.  [Aside,  l.  u.  e.]  Monster  ! 

Jus.  Thank  you,  sir;  it  shall  be  just  as  you  please. 
[Roland  places  the  bottle  in  the  empty  partition,  near  the  boys , 
the  Count  watching  him  closely . 

Rol.  [Aside,  i..  c.j  So  that  nearest  them  is  their  por- 


SCENE  !.]  THE  WANDERING  BOYS  31 

tion.  [To  the  hoys.]  Now,  eat  on,  and  when  you  are 
thirsty,  we  will  drink  a  health  to  the  worthy  Baroness. 

Paul.  We  must  eat  a  little  more  before  we  drink,  sir. 

[ Roland,  remains  near  the  basket,  which  aggravates  the  distress 

of  the  Count.  « 

Bar.  (r.)  I  cannot  bear  to  look  upon  them — po,  it 
ust  not,  shall  not  be. 

Rol.  [Running  hastily  to  the  Baroness .]  Stay,  stay,  I  en¬ 
treat  you,  madam. 

[While  Rotund  crosses  to  the  Baroness ,  the  Count  softly  ap¬ 
proaches  the  basket  and  turns  it. 

Rol.  [Apart  to  Baroness ,  and  taking  her  hand.']  We’re 
partners  in  our  fears,  madam — we  must  be  partners,  too, 
in  the  action  that  removes  them. 

Bar.  I  cannot,  my  heart  revolts — [Breaking from  him.] 
let  me  go  hence.  [Exit,  greatly  agitated,  at  the  gates ,  c.  F, 

Jus.  [Looking  up.]  What,  is  the  Baroness  gone,  Mr, 
Roland. 

Rol.  She  will  soon  return.  In  the  meantime  we  will 
drink  her  health. 

Jus.  If  you  please,  sir. 

Paul  Ay,  with  all  my  heart;  I  should  like  to  drink 
something  nice,  now. 

Rol.  Come,  then,  we  are  to  exchange,  you  know  ; 
this  nearest  the  arbour  is  your  bottle,  [Filling  their 
glasses .]  and  this  mine.  [Filling  out  of  the  other  bottle. 

Jus.  What  bumpers  !  lord,  sir,  we  shall  be  fuddled. 

Paul.  Never  mind  that,  brother;  ’tis  good  stuff,  I’ll 
be  bound. 

Rol.  Yes,  yes  ;  in  my  mind  ’tis  all  that  can  be  wished 
for.  Health  and  happiness  to  the  Baroness. 

[Roland  and  the  boys  drink • 

Count.  [Aside,  raising  his  eyes  and  hands  to  heaven.]  Mer¬ 
ciful  Providence!  Thus  may  each  remorseless  villain 
meet  his  doom  ! 

Rol.  [Aside. ]  That  draught  secures  us,  and  insures 
their  fate. 

Paul,  f  Rismg.]  There,  we  have  had  quite  enough. 

Jus.  [Rising. J  And  now,  sir,  if  you  please,  we’ll  go 
back,  to  keep  our  promise  with  Mr.  Hubert. 

Rol.  (r.)  Oh,  there  is  no  hurry — none  in  the  least. 

Paul.  No  hurry? — Why,  you  told  him  you  would 
bring  us  back  almost  directly. 

Rol.  Oh !  I  might  have  said  so ;  but  the  Baroness 


32  THE  WANDERING  BOY.S.  [ACT  11. 

has  changed  her  mind  :  ’tis  her  order  that  you  pass 
the  night  in  the  castle. 

j Paul,  (c.)  Pho  !  pho  !  the  Baroness  has  been  very 
good  to  us,  to  be  sure  ;  but  then  a  promise  is  a  promise, 
all  the  world  over,  and  go  we  must  and  will;  so  now 
that’s  flat — so  you  may  tell  her  honour. 

Jus.  [Going,  l.  c.]  Come,  brother. 

Rol.  (r.)  [Sternly.]  Stir  not,  at  your  peril. 

Paul.  Peril  !  hoity  toity  !  and  who  are  you,  pray  ? — 
If  your  mistress  was  here,  she  wouldn’t  use  us  so,  Mr. 
Bantam. 

Jus .  No,  good  lady,  that  she  wouldn’t ;  but  don’t  be 
so  furious,  Paul,  you  frighten  me  so. 

Paul  You  are  always  frightened  ;  I  tell  you,  we  will 
go;  we  have  a  right,  and  pray,  who’s  to  hinder  us  ? — 
We  shall  walk  by  ourselves,  for  we  don’t  want  your 
company,  Mr  Bantam.  Come  along,  Justin. 

Rol.  [Stopping  them.']  How,  urchins?  are  you  muti¬ 
nous?  [Aside.]  This  will  give  colour  to  the  peasants  for 
their  retention,  and  ’twere  best  they  languished  here. 
[To  Paul.]  You  would  go,  then  ? 

Paul.  Would  !  we  will,  and  by  ourselves,  too. 

Rol.  Whither  you  now  go,  you  must  be  accompanied. 
What,  ho  !  the  Castle  Guard. 

Jus.  Oh,  dear,  Paul  !  Pm  frightened  out  of  my  w  its. 
Paul.  [Snapping  his  finger.]  I  don’t  care  that  for  him. 
I’ll  complain  to  her  honour. 

Enter  the  Castle  Guard,  at  the  gates ,  c.  F. 

Rol.  Seize  these  young  mutineers,  and  place  them 
separately  in  close  confinement;  this  in  the  square 
tower,  and  that  in  the  dungeon  beneath  the  terrace. 

Jus.  [Terrified.]  Oh,  dear!  what  will  become  of  us? 
Oh  !  where's  her  honour? 

Paul.  Touch  us  at  your  peril !  I’ll  raise  the  village— 

I’ll  tell  the  Baroness,  I’ll - 

Rol.  Away  with  them. 

[Music. — The  Guards  seize  them— Roland,  by  action ,  sternly 
orders  the  Count  to  open  the  doors  of  their  prison — the  Count 
obeys — Paul  struggles  aod  exclaims  violently — Roland  mo~ 
turns  the  Count ,  who  retires  behind  the  arbour ,  L. — Paul  is 
faced  into  the  dungeon,  r.,  and  Justin  into  the  one ,  L. 

Rol.  [To  the  Guard]  Retire.  [Exeunt  all  the  Guards  but 
one,  at  the  gates 9  c.  F.J  Remain  you  here— conceal  your- 


SCENE  I.]  THE  WANDERING  BOYS.  33 

self  from  their  sight — but  should  they  converse,  and 
utter  aught  you  think  should  be  communicated,  bring 
me  word  forthwith  :  be  vigilant. 

[ Exit  at  the  gates ,  c.  F. — the  Guard  paces  backward,  end 
forward  in  the  front. 

Paul.  [At  the  dungeon  window,  R.]  Justin,  brother  Jus¬ 
tin,  don't  you  hear  me  1 

Jus .  [At  the  dungeon  gate,  L.]  Yes,  Paul,  but  I  don't 
see  you.  Oh!  we  shall  never  see  each  other  again. 
Paul.  Isn't  that  Roland  a  great  rascal  ? 

Jus.  A  sad  wicked  man,  indeed.  Old  Francis,  that 
we  thought  a  savage,  wouldn’t  have  used  us  so. 

Paul.  That  he  wouldn’t ;  ’twas  only  out  of  kindness 
that  he  first  frightened  us  away  from  this  devil  of  a 
castle. 

Jus.  Did  you  see  how  sorry  he  was  when  we  were 
locked  up  ? 

Paul.  He'd  have  prevented  it  if  he  could,  and  I  hope 
he  will  be  able  to  help  us  out. 

Guard.  [Aside.]  So,  then,  Francis  is  their  friend; — 
the  steward  must  know  this  immediately 

[Exit  at  the  gates ,  c.  F« 

Re* enter  the  Count,  cautiously ,  L.,  who  crosses  to  Paul’s 
dungeon ,  R. 

Paul.  How  do  you  like  your  room,  Justin  ? — Is  it  as 
prettily  furnished  as  mine  1 — Hark,  somebody  opens  my 
door. 

Jus.  Our  guard  ;  then  I’ll  retire. 

[Retires  from  the  gate — the  Count  unlocks  Paul’s  dungeon • 
Paul.  [ Seeing  the  Count.}  Ha,  Francis  !  good  old  soul, 
I  thought,  so  ;  I’ll  come. 

Re-enter  Paul  from  the  dungeon — he  is  about  to  express  his 
gratitude  aloud ,  when  the  Count  puts  his  finger  on  his  lips , 
and  having  shut  the  door ,  embraces  him,  and  leads  him  to 
the  other  dungeon  door ,  which  he  throws  open — re-enter 
Justin, yhwn  the  dungeon ,  L« 

Paul.  Justin. 

Jus.  [Embracing. ]  Brother! 

Paul.  Dear  Francis. 

Jus.  Dear  good  old  man. 

[The  Count  stands  behind,  and  throws  his  arm  over  their  neck$ 
as  they  embrace . 


34r 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS 


[act  r* 


Count.  Silence  !  fly — lose  not  a  moment. 

Paul.  \\  hy,  he  hears  as  clearly  now  as - 

Count .  [In  a  hurried  manner,]  All  will  be  soon  ex¬ 
plained  ;  take  these  pistols — they  are  charged — and 
here,  here  is  the  key. 

Jus.  Of  what? 

Count.  The  castle  gate,  yonder  ;  you  know  the  way 
already.  [Trying  to  detach  the  key  from  his  girdle. J  I  must 
not  now  accompany  you  :  ’sdeath  !  I  cannot  disengage 
it.  [Noise  of  persons  advancing.]  Ah!  some  one  comes — we 
are  lost.  Quick!  quick!  conceal  yourselves  in  your 
dungeon. 

Jus.  But  the  key. 

Count.  I  will  return,  and  give  it  you. 

[They  retire  into  the  dungeons ,  closing  the  doors — the  Count r 

who  is  about  to  withdraw ,  is  met  by  Roland  and  the  Guard. 

Rol.  [To  the  Count.]  Why  do  you  loiter  here? — Give 
me  your  keys  ;  [Examines  them.]  so  they  are  all  here.  [To 
the  Guard.]  Henceforward  let  the  care  of  these  be  yours^ 
IT-  the  Count .J  Away  from  this  spot ;  to-morrow  you 
shall  hear  from  me.  [Exit  Count  at  the  gate ,  c.  F.]  Send 
hither  a  sentinel;  be  speedy  in  obedience. 

[Exit  Guard  at  the  gate,  C.  F. 

Jus.  [Aside,  from  the  dungeon.]  We  shall  never  get  away. 

Paul.  [Aside,  from  the  dungeon. J  Hush  ! 

Rol.  ’Spite  of  this  man’s  story,  1  scarcely  think  that 
Francis  can  feel  interested  for  these  boys;  however, 
suspicion  is  excited,  and  Tis  proper  he  should  be  taken 
care  of. 

Enter  a  Sentinel,  at  the  gates ,  c.  F. 

Rol.  Oh,  the  sentinel ;  do  you  remain  here  ;  be  care¬ 
ful  ;  should  your  prisoners  attempt  to  escape,  give  the 
alarm  by  firing  your  carbine. 

Jus.  [Whispering  to  Paul.]  He  has  a  carbine. 

Rol.  Look  out  from  time  to  time  upon  the  rampart  wall. 

Puul.  [Whispering  to  Justin.]  Do  you  mark,  upon  the 
rampart. 

Rol.  There,  at  the  top,  opposite  you. 

Paul.  At  the  top  opposite  ? 

Rol .  And  be  sure  keep  a  strict  eye  upon  the  breach.. 

[Exit  at  the  gates ,  c.  P 

Paul.  [Exultingly.]  There  is  a  breach,  then? 

Jus.  Hush,  brother,  for  the  sake  of  heaven. 

[The  Sentinel  paces  backward  and  forward  in  the  frmiU 


SCENE  UJ 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS- 


Jus.  What’s  to  be  done'? 

Paul.  Run  away. 

Jus.  But  the  sentinel  has  a  carbine. 

Paul.  We  must  get  it  from  him.  Listen — you  must — * 
go — hush  ?  he’s  here.  [They  steal  softly  from  the  dungeon . 
Paul.  [Giving  a  pistol  to  Justin.]  Take  this. 

Music. — Enter  the  Count,  cautiously ,.  at  the  gate ,  c  F.f  im- 
perceived  by  the  Sentinel — he  attacks  him — obtains  his  car¬ 
bine — throws  him  down ,  and  points  the  piece  at  his  breast. 

Count.  [To  Paul  and  Justin  ]  Now  save  yourselves — 
fly  to  Hubert’s— there  we  shall  meet  again. 

Pant  I 

^  £  Heaven  bless  you,  good  old  man. 

Jus.  3 

[Exeunt  Paul  and  Justin ,  climbing  over  the  wall,  R» 
END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — A  Wood ,  near  the  Castle  of  OlivaL 
Enter  Gregoirf.,  r.  s.  e. 

Grc.  I  have  lurked  around  the  castle  till  the  sun  has 
nearlj  sunk,  and  still  there  is  no  appearance  of  the 
troops  to  rescue  and  avenge  the  Count  de  Croissy.  [A 
noise  of  footsteps  is  heard.]  Who  are  these? — i  must  not  be 
observed.  [Retires  a  Jew  paces . 

Enter  Justin  and  Paul,  l. 

Paul.  What  a  scamper !  I’m  out  of  breath.  At  last 
we’re  at  liberty. 

Jus.  Thank  heaven  and  the  good  old  man !  But  at 
every  step  I  fear  we  may  be  re-taken. 

Paul  11  we  are  stopped,  we  must  fight,  and  we  have 
arms  I  hope  this  way  will  lead  us  to  Mr.  Hubert's — 
let  us  but  get  to  him,  and — [Sees  Gregoire.]  W’ho’s  there  ? 
[Levels  his  pistol.]  Speak,  or  you’re  as  dead  as  a  door¬ 
nail. 

Gre.  [Coming  forward ,  R.]  Why,  youngsters,  would 
you  fire  upon  a  stranger  ? 

Paul,  (l.)  We  are  strangers,  too,  just  come  from 
Switzerland.  Are  you  friend  or  foe? 


36  THE  WANDERING  boys.  [act  nr. 

Gre.  Friend — always  to  the  innocent ;  and  you  are 
too  young’,  1  think,  to  practise  wickedness. 

Paul.  We  have  seen  so  much  wickedness  in  the  castle 
there,  from  which  we  have  just  escaped,  that  we  fancy 
every  body  an  enemy. 

Gre.  Escaped,  and  from  the  castle  ! 

Jus.  We  shouldn’t  have  got  out,  but  for  a  good  old 
man,  sir — he’s  the  porter. 

Gre.  [Aside  ]  They  must  mean  the  Count  de  Croissy ; 
what  can  have  passed  ? 

Jus.  The  steward  first  coaxed  us  in. 

P..aI.  Yes,  like  a  wheedling  rascal  as  he  is. 

Jus.  Then  they  made  much  of  us,  and  treated  us, 
and - 

Paul .  Then  locked  us  up  in  separate  dungeons. 

Jus.  And  there  we  must  have  stayed  and  died,  if  Mr. 
Francis  hadn’t  helped  us  to  get  away  ;  I’m  sure  he  has 
behaved  to  us  like  a  father. 

Gre .  [Aside.]  A  father  !  How  came  you  in  this  coun¬ 
try  ? 

Jus.  We  were  travelling,  and  as  we  came  into  the 
hamlet  this  morning,  Mr.  Hubert  adopted  us  as  orphans, 
under  the  Count  de  Croissv’s  charter. 

Gre.  Hubert — did  he? — Hubert  is  a  worthy  fellow. 

Paul.  Then  you  know  Mr.  Hubert,  sir? 

Gre.  Yes,  I — no,  that  is,  I — 1  have  heard  he  bears 
an  excellent  character ;  I’ll  conduct  you  to  him,  towards 
the  olive  field. 

Jus.  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  path,  sir? 

Gre.  Yes,  yes,  perfectly.  Come,  let  me  conduct  you 
into  safety. 

Paul.  [Aside  to  Justin .]  I  hardly  know  what  to  make 
of  him.  [To  Gregoire.]  Lookye,  sir, — first  you  know  Mr. 
Hubert,  and  then  you  don’t  know  him  ;  then  you  are  a 
stranger,  and  then  you  know  every  inch  of  the  road — 
so  hang  me  if  I  like  to  trust  you. 

Gre.  [Going,  r.]  Come,  repose  your  confidence  in  me. 

Paul.  [To  Gregoire.]  Why,  sir,  as  we  can’t  do  better, 
and  'tis  just  night — we’ll  follow  you.  [Aside  to  Justin.] 
Come,  brother,  1  am  arm'd,  and  if  our  conductor  turns 
out  an  impostor,  he  shall  have  a  pair  of  balls  for  his  de* 
ceit.  %  [Exeunt,  R. 


SCENE  II.] 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


35 


SCENE  TI.— The  Olive  Field  and  Garden — a  rural 
fete — Hubert  and  Marceline  discovered  sifting-  at  a 
table ,  spread  with  fruit,  — the  Villagers  finishing  a 

dance. 

Lab.  [O/i  one  ieg ,  turning  a  perouette.]  If  this  isn’t  an 
elegant  attitude,  I  should  like  to  know-  what  is — atti¬ 
tude’s  every  thing. 

Lou .  Oh,  beautiful ! 

[ The  dancers  separate ,  the  men  conducting  the  females  to  take 
refreshments ,  which  are  placed  on  tables. 

JLub.  [To  Louise .]  Now,  which  would  you  choose — a 
pipkin,  or  a  glass  of  brandy? 

Mar.  [To  Hubert.']  Don’t  let  them  see  you  so  uneasy. 
Hub.  [To  Marceline.]  If  the  boys  don’t  return  in  ten 
minutes,  I’ll  proceed  to  the  castle  as  their  guardian, 
with  a  posse  of  neighbours,  and  claim  them.  Hark! 
isn’t  that  ? — [Starting  up.]  Yes,  they  come. 

Fnter  Paul  and  Justin,  r.,  exhausted  with  fatigue  and 
alarm — they  run  to  Hubert — the  Peasants  fock  around  them . 

Paul } 

<$f  >  Oh,  Mr.  Hubert!  oh  !  oh  !  oh  dear,  oh  ! 

Jus.  \ 

Hub.  What  has  terrified  you  so  ? — Pistols  !  what  has 
been  the  matter? — Prithee,  what  has  occurred? 

Paul.  That  steward  is  the  greatest  scoundrel — that 
Roland - 

Hub.  Roland!  I  always  thought  so  ;  and  to-morrow, 

w  hen  I  see  this  steward - - 

Rot.  [  Without.]  This  way  5  follow’  me  quickly;  they 
must  be  here. 

Jus .  [Clinging  to  Hubert .]  Pray,  dear  Mr.  Hubert,  pro¬ 
tect  us. 

Hub.  Never  fear — let  him  touch  you  at  his  peril — I’ll 
teach  him  what  honour  is. 

Enter  Roland,  r.  s.  e.,  with  a  body  of  the  castle  guard. 

Rot.  It  pains  me,  honest  friends,  to  cast  a  gloom  on 
your  festivity  ;  but,  by  the  Baroness’s  order,  1  now  ap¬ 
pear,  to  claim  two  culprits  who  have  grossly  wronged 
her. 

Hub.  You  will  find,  I  think,  sir,  no  culprits  here  :  how¬ 
ever,  if  we  have  criminals  among  us,  the  Baroness  will 
vouchsafe  to  let  us  know  their  crime. 

D 


38 


THE  WANDERING  BOYS. 


[ACT  Hi, 

Rol.  (c.)  Those  vagrant  lads,  whom  the  ardour  of 
your  benevolence,  good  Hubert,  has  too  rashly  patron¬ 
ized  ; — ’tis  shocking  to  see  so  much  depravity  in  youth. 

Hub.  ( L.  c.)  (  Wnh  pointed  contempt .]  Sir,  on  the  domain 
of  so  good  a  master  as  the  late  noble  resident  here,  ’tis 
shocking  to  find  depravity  any  where. 

Rol.  [ Disconcerted .]  Certainly  ;  but  you  will  find  on 
them  a  purse. 

Mar.  This  moment,  as  they  came  back,  they  told  us 
the  Baroness  had  given  them  money  ;  didn’t  they,  neigh¬ 
bours  ? 

Hub  They  did  ;  and  if  the  charge  rests  only  on  this 
presumptive  proof,  let  it  never  be  said,  in  any  civilized 
country,  that  the  dispensations  of  the  affluent  to  orphan 
poverty  are  so  rare  as  to  throw  a  suspicion  of  theft  on 
the  receivers. 

Jus.  (l.)  Here’s  the  purse,  sir  ;  [Giving  it  to  Hubert .]  he 
knows  very  well  that  her  honour,  the  great  lady  at  the 
castle,  gave  it  us  with  her  own  hands,  for  he  saw  her  : 
we  have  never  opened  it  yet. 

Rol.  [To  Hubert .]  Think  you  the  Baroness  would  lavish, 
at  first  sight,  so  large  a  sum  on  boys  to  whom,  this  morn¬ 
ing,  a  few  doits  appeared  a  treasure  ? — ’Tis  not  possible. 

Jus.  Possible  or  not,  we  will  go  back  with  you,  now ! 
Our  characters  for  honesty  are  dearer  than  life  ;  ’twas  all 
our  dear  mother  had  to  leave  us. 

Paul.  Ay  ^  and  for  her  sake  we’ll  preserve  it.  [Embrace 
ing  Justin.]  Come,  we  are  ready. 

Hub.  Brave,  good  boys,  and  if  they  don’t  prove  ho¬ 
nest — 

Mar.  I’ll  be  hanged. 

hub .  And  I’ll  be  d - d. 

[Hubert  puts  his  hand  before  Rubin  s  mouth . 

Hub.  This  time,  however,  1  insist  upon  going  with  them 
[Hubert  takes  the  hands  of  Paul  and  Justin ,  and  follows  Round, 

who  is  going  off ,  c.F. — Martial  Music  heard  without — a  pause . 

Enter  Gregoire  and  Soldiers ,  R.  s.  E. 

Rol.  [To  Gregoire .]  Whose  troops  are  these? 

Gre.  ( Advancing,  c  ]  The  king's,  to  whom  in  obedience 
you  must  submit. 

Rol  (r.  c.)  Are  you  their  leader  ? 

Gre.  Ay,  good  Mr.  Roland,  deign  to  remember  me ; 
cast  your  eyes  upon  a  humble  follower  of  the  Count  de 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WANDERING  BOYS.  39 

Crois3v  :  one  who  has  been  somewhat  more  faithful  to 
him  than  you  have  proved. 

Rol.  The  noble  Baroness  now  inherits  my  ever  faithful 
service.  The  master  whom  I  was  once  proud  to  serve, 
is - 

Enter  the  Count  de  Croissy,  c.F. — the  Count  comes  forward, 
and ,  throwing  aside  his  former  dress,  appears  in  a  splendid 
military  uniform . 

Count .  Here,  wretch!  [To  Roland.]  This  disguise, 
which  I  now  throw  aside,  informs  thee  I  know  all  thy 
infamy.  Come,  come,  my  children,  to  my  arms  !  [ Holding 
them  in  his  arms.]  Come,  embrace  your  father 

Rol.  [Aside.]  Exposed!  then  I  must  brave  it  well.  [To 
the  Count. J  Embrace  them,  count,  you  will  not  long  enjoy 
that  blessing;  a  subtle  poison  is  now  running  through — 
Count.  Thy  veins,  not  theirs  !  Thank  heaven,  1  have 
preserved  my  Sons.  Your  accomplice — I  blush  to  call 
my  relative — she  is  secured.  [To  the  Guards  ]  Convey 
him  to  confinement:  he  who  composed  the  hellish  drug, 
best  knows  how  long  he  has  to  linger,  or  what  his  tor¬ 
ments  may  be.  [Exeunt  Roland ,  guarded ,  R. 

Count.  My  friends  of  Olival ! 

Hub.  [Kneeling.]  Welcome,  dear  master. 

( Loud  shouts  of  Peasantry , 
Count .  Gregoire — Hubert — I  owe  ye  much  :  a  parent  s 
thanks  are  due  to  you,  and  to  each  and  all  who  have 
afforded  their  protection  to  “  The  Wandering  Boys.” 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE 
FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN. 

Villagers.  Villagers.  Villagers . 

Gre.  Hub.  Mar.  Paul.  Count.  Justin.  Louise.  Lubin 


THE  END. 


BRO  UG  ii  A  M’S 


DRAMATIC  WORKS: 


CONSISTING  OF  A  COLLECTION  OF 


DRAMAS,  COMEDIES  AND  FARCES, 


BY  JOHN  BROUGHAM 


SELECTED  FROM 


FRENCH’S  AMERICAN  DRAMA- 


WITH  PORTRAIT  ON  STEEL 

BY  R.  SHELTON 

VOL.  I. 

GAME  OF  LIFE. 

LOVE  AND  MURDER, 
DAVID  COPPERFIELD, 
TEMPTATION, 


;  AND  MEMOIR  0>  THE  AUTHOR 

MACKENZIE,  ESQ. 
CONTAINS : 

GAME  OF  LOVE. 
POCAHONTAS, 

DOMBEY  AND  SON, 
ROMANCE  AND  REAMTl 


NEW  YORK: 

SAMUEL  F  R  E  IS  C  H 

No.  122  Nassau  Street,  (Up  Stairs.' 


MASSEY’S 

EXHIBITION  RECITER 
DRAWING-ROOM  ENTERTA1WMEWTS, 

iein  i  choice  recitations  in  prose  and  verse,  together  with  an  unique 
collection  of 

PETITE  COMEDIES,  DRAMAS  AND  FAECES, 
ADAPTED  FOR  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOLS  AND  FAMILIES, 
BY  CHARLES  MASSEY, 

■“rofessor  of  Elocution  at  Burlington  College,  N.  J.,  and  Mechanics 
Society  School,  N.  Y. 


No.  1  Contains, 

ruy  Fawkes,  an  “  Historical  Drama.” 

'he  Man  With  the  Carpet  Bag,  “Farce.” 
Vhite  Horse  of  the  Peppers,  “  Comic 
Drama.” 

Mesmerism,  “Petite  Comedy,” 

Vnd  Twelve  selected  pieces. 


No.  2  Contains, 

Love  and  Jealousy,  “Tragedy.” 

The  Irish  Tutor,  “  Farce.” 

Bombastes  Furioso,  “  Burlesque  Opera.” 
Sylvester  Daggerwood,  “Comic  Inter¬ 
lude.” 

School  for  Orators.  “Original  Comedy,” 
And  Eighteen  selected  pieces. 


Price  per  Number,  Paper  Covers,  25  Cents  each. 

The  Two  Numbers,  bound  In  Cloth,  school  style,  60  Cents. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  number  of  voluminous  school  readers,  and 
speakers,  that  have  already  been  published,  there  still  exists  a  want, 
vhich  is  felt  by  all  who  delight  in  the  practice  of  recitation,  viz  .  a  col¬ 
ection  of  humorous  and  pathetic  pieces,  in  prose  and  verse,  exactly 
suitable  for  school  exhibitions,  and  social  entertainment  ;  this  want  has 
compelled  the  compiler,  during  a  long  course  of  teaching,  to  devote  con¬ 
siderable  time  in  gleaning  from  innumerable  sources,  for  the  especial 
lse  of  his  own  pupils,  such  pieces  as  are  best  calculated  to  please  both 
:he  reciter  and  the  audience  ;  and  he  believes  that  the  result  ol  his 
labor  will  be  acceptable  to  those  who  wish  to  practice  the  important  art 
af  elocution,  either  for  amusement  or  emolument.  The  dramatic  pieces 
will  be  found  quite  an  original  feature,  inasmuch  as  they  are  not  mere 
extracts,  or  mutilated  scenes  ;  but  although  in  some  instances,  consider¬ 
ably  altered  from  the  originals,  they  still  retain  an  entire  plot,  and  all 
the  wit  and  humor  that  could  consistently  be  preserved  ;  and  are  ar¬ 
ranged,  and  adapted  especially  for  juvenile  representation-— everything 
objectionable  has  been  carefully  expunged,  and  they  have  in  their  pic- 
sent  form  received  the  unqualified  approbation  of  numerous  intellectual 
and  select  audiences,  before  whom  they  have  been  presented  by  the 
pupils  of  the  adapter. — Extract  from  the  Author's  Preface 

S.  FRENCH, 

Publisher,  121  Nassau-street,  New  York. 

IVESON  «&  PHINHEY, 

321  Broadway,  New  York. 

g.  C.  GRIGGS  &  CO., 

Chicago,  Ill 


The  Largest,  Cheapest,  and  Best  Magazine  in  the  Wbrld 


THE 


SUto  fjtrk  (j0urna 

OF 

ROMANCE,  LITERATURE  AND  ART. 


Having  purchased  the  well  known  New  York  Journal,  the  presi  : 
proprietor  will  continue  it  permanently,  and  will  hereafter  issu» 
with  such  a  liberal  regard  to  its  improvement  in  every  branch  of  I  . , 
feature  and  Illustration,  as  shall  make  it  unsurpassed,  in  point 
Attractiveness  and  Real  Value,  by  any  other  Journal  orMagazh  .* 
The  New  York  Journal  WILL  APPEAR  PUNCTUALLY! 

In  size,  a  large  quarto,  each  number  will  contain  sixty-four  pagu? 
three  columns  wide.  Its  contents  will  embrace  subjects*  selected  an 
arranged  so  as  to  give,  in  the  most  agreeable  manner,  authentic  Ii 
formation  and  Amusement  to  every  one. 

The  Journal  will  have  One  New  and  Interesting  Novel,  continue 
from  number  to  number,  alone  worth  the  price  of  subscription,  b« 
sides  numerous  Tales,  Romances,  Stories  and  Poetry. 

In  the  DRAMA,  the  proprietod  .1  resents  a  most  agreeable  feafur 
which  does  not  exist  in  any  other  Journal,  viz.  :  that  of  publishing  i 
its  columns  an  ENTIRE  ACTING  PLAY.  The  plays  will  be  careful] 
and  judiciously  selected,  offering  what  may  be  made  use  of,  with 
little  tact  in  adaptation,  as  a  verv  Pleasing  and  Instructive  PARLO 
ENTERTAINMENT. 

Improvements  in  AGRICULTURE,  GARDENING,  the  Rearing  « 
Domestic  Poultry,  etc.,  will  be  drawn  from  all  reliable  sources. 

This  Journal  will  aim  at  instructive  '“HINTS  for  HOME  LT!  E 
addressed  to  the  Ladies,  on  Health  and  Diet,  Household  Affairs, 
Mother’s  Cares,  Personal  Accomplishments,  etc.  PATTERNS  ft '  us 
ful  NEEDLEWORK,  and  HINTS  on  the  ART  of  DRESS  will  be  a  j 
companied  by  a  description  of  a  choice  of  the  FASHIONS,  with  ilk  ; 
trations. 

SPORTS  of  the  SEASON,  illustrated,  suited  to  Children  and  Youi 
People,  in  doors  and  out  of  doors;  and  such  matters  as  have  a  hapj 
influence  on  their  health  and  intelligence. 

Comicalities,  Humorous  Sayings,  Anecdotes,  and  “  Good  Things, 
will  lighten  the  more  solid  matter. 

TERMS  : — Published  Monthly,  Price,  18f  cts.  each  number ;  $1  pe 
Volume,  or  $2  per  year.  Price  to  Clubs,  four  copies,  $7 ;  six  copies 
$10  ;  10  copies,  $16,  invariably  in  advance. 

S.  FRENCH,  Publisher,  122  Nassau  St , 

***  For  sale  at  periodical  depots,  everywhere.  (Up  Stairs,] 


